That was the first moment Serien felt lost. All the others knew what to do, where to go. They had their tents and their assignments. There wasn’t any hesitation as they dissolved into normal life for swordsmen.

She moved slowly, trying to overhear a bit of conversation that would confirm if she could just go up to the tent cart and ask for one or not.

“Soldier,” a man called from behind her.

Serien turned and her chest ached at the familiar eyes.

“You’re a new recruit, aren’t you?” Daniel stopped before her, a hand on his hip.

“I am,” Serien mumbled.

“Your name?” The question was clearly forced.

“Serien Leral,” she replied, hoping he’d take note.

“Let me see you use that thing.” He pointed to her sword.

She looked back at the Easterner. What was he thinking? He was going to ruin her cover less than one day in. One or two others glanced at the Golden Guard addressing her, but it seemed normal enough that they didn’t give it much heed.

Serien drew her sword, determined. It was too heavy, and she was instantly off-balance. She gripped it with two hands, trying to steady herself. Daniel drew his sword and in one fluid motion he sent her weapon flying from her hands and into the sand.

“That wasn’t fair!” she protested.

“Do you think our enemy will be fair?” Daniel took a step closer. “How long have you practiced?”

Serien averted her eyes. She shouldn’t have said anything. “Not long.” It sounded a lot better than “never.”

“The West is really letting their standards drop.” He sheathed his blade, crossing his arms over his chest. Serien regarded him cautiously. “You are from the West, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Thought so.” He sighed dramatically with a roll of his eyes. “Fine, I’ll teach you.”

“What?”

“I’m not letting a soldier under my command go into war helpless.” A familiar tone echoed under his words. “Let’s get out of the tents.”

She followed him into the desert on the outside of the host. They didn’t go far, just far enough that there was room to move in a wide circle and not fear for swinging their blades.

“You don’t hold it like that. Look at how I hold mine.” He demonstrated on his own blade and ended up moving her hand placement anyways. “There, like that.”

“It’s heavy,” she whispered.

“It’s forged steel.” Daniel chuckled. “Now, to swing.”

If Serien had been exhausted, in pain, and sweat drenched from the march, it was nothing compared to working with Daniel until sunset. Every limb ached, her shoulders screamed in protest, and she could barely grip the blade to sheathe it.

“That’s enough for today.” Daniel made note of her condition.

Serien nodded in thanks. “Daniel,” she said softly as they started back for camp.

“Yes?” His tone had changed to something she knew.

“Can I just get any tent?”

“You didn’t already get one?” He seemed startled.

“No, I didn’t. They didn’t tell me anything.” She bit her lip.

“There aren’t going to be any left.” Daniel ran a gauntleted hand through his hair. “Would you like to stay with me?” His question was so soft he clearly doubted it.

“I can’t.”

“Why?” Daniel asked sincerely. “Why can’t you?”

“Because I ...”

“I won’t let you sleep in the sand, alone.” It hardly sounded appealing to her either. “Are you travelling with someone, Serien?”

Daniel stole her eyes, and Serien struggled with finding an answer. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Serien pushed ahead of him and didn’t look back.

It was just as he had said. She slept out in the open with her pack as her pillow. Even though the South would be in the throes of winter, it was hot in the Waste and that heat lingered through the evening. It wasn’t until the moon was half in the sky that she began to shiver.

When Serien woke, a blanket covered her shoulders. There was no name stitched upon it, but it was finer than standard issue. Serien looked around, as if she could find the phantom who had placed it upon her in the night. But no one came forward.

She used it the next night, and the night after that. Once, Serien thought briefly about the other woman’s powers, about reaching out her mind from her body in the cover of darkness to a certain prince. But the idea was quickly squelched. That prince did not belong to her, he and Serien were nothing. She drifted to sleep that night debating with herself. If Serien and Prince Aldrik were nothing, then why was she sleeping alone in the cold?

By the third night the other soldiers had begun to notice that she was aloof and different.

“You practice with Lord Taffl a lot,” remarked one of the soldiers who marched next to her.

“It is an honor,” Serien said dryly.

“You someone special to the lord?” they asked.

She didn’t say anything.

“Hey, I asked you a question.” The soldier waved his hand in front of her face.

She continued to look forward.

“What’s wrong with you?” the man huffed.

“Leave the lady alone,” Daniel ordered from atop his horse.

“Definitely someone special,” the soldier mumbled to his friend.

The words stayed with Serien the whole day, and she confronted Daniel about them later. Serien threw her sword into the sand. Her leg was throbbing, likely from not taking off her greaves for nearly a week straight. Her calf was a mess she couldn’t bring herself to look at.

“They think there’s something between us.”

“And?” Daniel sheathed his sword, picking up hers.

“We can’t keep doing this or they’ll think—”

“What?” He handed the sword back to her. “What will they think?”

“That there’s something between us.” Serien didn’t take the weapon.

“So what?”

“They can’t,” she insisted.

“Why not?” Daniel shrugged but his eyes betrayed hurt.

“Because we’re ...” Her voice faded as he took a step closer to her.

“What? What are we?” he asked softly.

She finally took the sword sheathing it in frustration.

“I don’t have words for it either, yet.” Daniel laid himself emotionally bare before her. “But I want to help you, I want to look out for you. I know I’m not even supposed to know who you are, but I do and I’m thankful for it.”

Serien shook her head, trying to unhear his words.

“Look at me,” he said softly. She shook her head again. “Vhalla, look at me.”

Her attention snapped to him at the mention of her real name. It crumbled her mask and tore down the walls she’d tried so hard to build. It made the pain worse and the truth harder to bear.

“Don’t call me that,” she begged. “Please, Daniel, don’t call me that.”

“It is your name.” He quickly pulled off his gauntlet. She stilled when his skin made contact with hers, his hand along her jaw. “Why did they take it from you?”

“To keep me safe,” she hiccupped softly, losing the fight with tears.

He sighed, unable to argue. “Then let me keep you safe as well. Don’t sleep outside on the ground again tonight. It has carved a hole into my chest that gets deeper each moment I think of you there.”

“You know why I can’t.” She wasn’t sure if it was Vhalla or Serien who looked at him then, but Daniel was unable to meet her stare.

“He would want you safe,” Daniel mumbled. His hand fell from her face with the weight of resignation. “I won’t touch you, I swear it.”

The sun was setting over the dunes, turning his Eastern skin golden. Vhalla swallowed, trying to find Serien in her once more. Her heart hurt, her mind was heavy, but she didn’t want to sleep in the cold another night and she was so tired.

Serien nodded.

Daniel stared at her in disbelief for a long moment. He was quick to lead her back to camp. Serien’s heart raced as he led her toward a modestly-sized tent near the center. Two similar ones were placed near it, Baldair’s not far away.

Her eyes lingered on the younger prince’s tent. He would know. He would find out about her and Daniel, if he hadn’t already. What if he told Aldrik?